Septimana
by Awahili
Summary: How had it all become so complicated? Six years ago his biggest worry was dealing with Gina's wrath for not meeting her next deadline. Six years ago he'd never had cause to fear for his own life, or the life of his loved ones. A post-finale fic to tide us over until September.


I'm sure everyone is just as upset as I am with the finale. I am also sure it will go one of two ways. Either (a), Castle managed to get out of the car, they reunite within the first few moments of season seven and get married. Or (b), he's been kidnapped by someone and will be MIA for the first few episodes. Either way, I don't care. I love this show.

But until then, here is my fix for 6x23. Probably not anywhere close, but this will be my head-canon until September. Enjoy.

* * *

_**Day 1**_

Rick Castle leaned his head against the cool glass, willing the ache in his head and in his heart to go away. Scenery flew by the window but he paid it no attention, focused instead on just breathing in and out. He wasn't sure he could do that without her; she'd long since infused herself so deeply in his being that he was sure their heartbeats were in sync. He closed his eyes briefly as his throat worked to swallow around the despair that welled up whenever he thought about her.

She would have been notified by now, and he knew her well enough to know she'd need to see it for herself. He imagined her racing to the scene in the only car available, probably still in whatever dress Lanie had managed to find to replace the one that had been ruined. She wouldn't wait for the car to stop, jumping out as it slowed and jogging the rest of the way. She would see the car, crumpled and destroyed. The fire had been set after - _necessary_, he'd said - in an effort to make identification of the remains difficult. He hoped Lanie wouldn't have to do that.

"Are you alright, son?"

Castle didn't bother responding. Son. The term that had sent a thrill through him at its first utterance now only served as a reminder at how terribly convoluted his life was. His father, the CIA ghost operative, who had helped him fake his own death to avoid a contract hit. How had it all become so complicated? Six years ago his biggest worry was dealing with Gina's wrath for not meeting her next deadline. Six years ago he'd never had cause to fear for his own life, or the life of his loved ones.

But he hadn't been happy. He hadn't been whole. Not until her.

And it hadn't been easy - nothing meaningful ever was. They'd fought and fallen so many times he'd lost count, but they'd risen stronger. They'd made it together and he'd really believed that this was it; that they'd finally reached the culmination of every broken sob, every drop of blood, every spiteful and passionate word they'd ever said.

"Richard?"

"What?" he finally snapped, not averting his eyes from the blur of white lines outside his window.

"I understand this is difficult. I never wanted this for you - for either of you. But it was necessary."

He hated that word. Necessary. _She_ was necessary. Their life together was necessary. This horrible, twisted plan was the furthest thing from necessary as it could get. But he'd insisted, appeared seemingly out of nowhere with information and a look Castle had never seen. It was desperation mixed with fear and determination; a father who wasn't a father at all doing all that he could do protect his son's happiness even as he destroyed it.

"Bracken still has men on the outside. Kate ruined his life, and he plans to repay her in kind." Hunt took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at the man slumped in the passenger seat. "I have people of my own, people who let me know when rumors surfaced about a revenge plot. He had planned on killing you tonight after the ceremony. Did you think that the destruction of your skyscraper venue was an accident?"

Castle turned then, eyes both curious and angry. "What?"

"Come on, Richard," Hunt admonished lightly, "circus performers? The only reason you didn't see it for the farce it was is because it was so close to the wedding that all you could do was panic. And then Kate's dress...that pipe busting was no accident either."

"But why?" Castle shifted in his seat, angling his body toward the man driving them away from everything Castle loved. "Why today? Why wait so long?"

"I've done a lot of bad things in my time," he said flatly, as if he didn't really want to admit the fact to his son. "Things that would make even your tough detective cringe. And there's one thing I've learned when it comes to killing people: timing is everything."

"Well your timing sucks." It was petulant, but Castle didn't care. If things had gone according to plan, he and Kate would be laughing and celebrating with their friends and family right now. If it had happened the way it was supposed to, they'd finally be married. Instead, he was sitting in a car pointed toward Canada and she was...

He didn't want to think about where she was right now. His writer's mind supplied enough images of a desolate Kate, sobbing alone and shutting her heart up so tight that no one would ever be able to reach her again. It was a picture he had to work to erase, and he knew it would haunt him for many nights to come.

"My timing is the only thing that kept you from taking a bullet today, probably right after that minister of yours pronounced you husband and wife." Hunt's knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he hit a junction and traffic. He navigated them to the right lane, following the signs toward the American-Canadian border.

"How could you know that?"

Hunt glanced over at him, his face full of guilt and regret. "Because that's how I would have done it."

* * *

_**Day 2**_

Castle banged his head lightly on the headboard behind him, staring off into the nothingness surrounding him. The pay-by-the-day hotel Hunt had found was good enough for now, but they couldn't stay here long. The plan was to get to a cabin where Castle would be safe, away from anyone and anything, and Jackson Hunt would then live up to his chosen surname. In the meantime, Castle had to stay inside and out of sight as Hunt gathered supplies.

Bored of the silence, Castle reached over for the remote lying on the bedside table. He flipped through a few channels mindlessly until he came upon a newscast. Not just any newscast, he realized, but _the_ newscast. He pressed the volume button so hard his thumbnail clicked against the plastic, and the anchorman's voice filled the small room.

"...still under investigation. Authorities haven't released any further details, but the Hamptons PD is coordinating with the New York City Police Department to spearhead the investigation. The remains found in the car are still being examined, but a preliminary report revealed that it was very likely the owner and reknowned author, Richard Castle, in the vehicle. Initial reports state that Mr. Castle lost control of his vehicle and careened off an embankment into a tree. The vehicle then caught fire, though whether the cause of death was the crash or the fire is still being investigated. Fred?"

"Thanks, David," the older anchorman swiveled in his chair to face another camera, stacking his papers in a way that made Castle think it was more nervous tic than organizational. "Perhaps the most tragic note in this story is his destination. Richard Castle had been on his way to his own wedding to NYPD Detective Katherine Beckett, the inspiration for his newest set of crime novels. Fans all over the country are mourning the loss of the author, and our thoughts and prayers are with his family during this difficult time." He paused deliberately, a moment of respect that seemed to follow every tragic story, before he took a sharp breath. "We'll be right back."

As the TV blared a commercial for yogurt, Castle let his head fall back against the wall again. It was official; he was dead. His family was in mourning, and they'd probably have to bury him before any of this ever got sorted out. He pressed the power button on the remote and resisted the urge to hurl it across the room. He closed his eyes against the sting of tears, his breathing loud and broken in the silence. The key in the door startled him, and he reached a hand over to open the drawer of the nightstand. Hunt had stashed two pistols inside before he left, making sure Castle knew they were there and how to use them.

"Me," Hunt murmured around the door even as it opened. Castle heard the rustling of half a dozen plastic bags, each hanging from thin strips around Hunt's arms as he pushed through the door and closed it behind him. There were an absurd amount of locks on the inside, and his father secured each and every one before finally turning back toward the room.

"Did you get everything?" Castle wasn't terribly interested in inventory, but the sooner they got moving the sooner Hunt could put his plan into motion. The sooner he got to go home.

"Think so," Hunt set all of the bags down on Castle's bed and slipped his arms from the handles. "There's enough food here to last about a week. It shouldn't take me longer than that."

"And if it does?" Castle sat up a little straighter, happy to at least get a timetable for his misery. One week. One week and this nightmare would finally be over.

"It won't," Hunt promised, his eyes dark and cold. Bracken had finally succeeded in crossing someone more dangerous than he, and Hunt was going to make sure he knew it. For a moment Castle almost felt proud, but then his circumstances hit him and his heart fell again.

"What time do we leave?"

"Before the sun," Hunt said. "You have a few hours to sleep. Get some rest, son."

Castle tried to laugh at the suggestion, but it came out more of a strangled sob. How was he supposed to rest when his whole world had been left believing he was dead? His mother, his daughter, his wife (she would have been his _wife_, now) - they were all grieving a loss that never happened, unaware that he was safe and unharmed. Hunt settled on the bed next to him, his movements shaky and unsure. These were hands that had killed men; now that they were called upon to offer solace, the man had no idea what to do with them. He settled for gripping Castle's forearm tightly, infusing the younger man with what little comfort he could manage.

"It's going to be fine, Richard. I promise. I will get this sorted, one way or another. You will marry Kate and give me more beautiful grandchildren that I can never meet but will love as best I know how. Don't give up just yet."

This time Castle did laugh, but it was a hollow sound void of any mirth. "I said the same thing to Kate the other day," he explained. "Everything seemed to just pile up against us, and I told her the best love stories are the ones with adversity to overcome." It seemed like such a good line at the time, and he believed it. They were worth fighting for, and no matter what life threw at them they'd always come out stronger. Always. As long as they were together.

They weren't together now, and he felt her absence so deeply that his heart could almost forget how to beat in his chest. Hunt's grip on his arm tightened slightly, then disappeared.

"Well, listen to your own advice then. This is just one more step, one more hurdle. I can't promise you it's the last one, but I can promise that this ends now. Whatever this is, it's over."

Castle realized with a start that Hunt had no idea the scope of Bracken's effect on their lives. He didn't know that the ex-Senator had orchestrated the death of Beckett's mother, or that he had been playing puppet master to a show that had run the course of nearly two decades. All Hunt knew was that Bracken wanted Castle dead, and that was simply not acceptable.

"Wait," Castle spoke as his father made to stand, halting the man's movements halfway. Hunt settled back down, his face open and curious. "I just...thank you."

"You're welcome," the corner of his mouth lifted in the approximation of a smile. "Now get some rest." He patted his son's arm one more time then stood, leaving the man to his thoughts. Castle shifted down until his head hit a too-firm pillow. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the unfamiliar scent of laundry soap and antiseptic.

He should have asked for cherries.

* * *

_**Day 3**_

The entire ride to the cabin had been filled with Beckett's story. Hunt deserved to know it all, and Castle laid it bare for the operative as their car traversed the winding roads. By the time they pulled up to the small one-story tucked neatly behind a grove of trees, Hunt had the full story. Castle could see the fierce determination in his father's eyes and wondered why he hadn't thought to enlist his help earlier. All of this heartache might have been avoided if he'd just told his father about Bracken from the beginning. Could he have made the Senator disappear so easily?

He shook himself out of those thoughts, not eager to wander down that dangerous path. This was the one they were on now, and what-ifs would get him nowhere. He listened dutifully as Hunt walked him through the cabin's security measures. A small room just inside the door held an array of screens that connected to cameras around the area. The bureau on the far side of the living room was a fake, filled with weapons and bullets rather than knicknacks and blankets. No phone, no Internet except in the surveillance room, and no television. Castle would be cut off from all forms of communication except the satellite phone in his bedroom. It had only two buttons on it: one for the power, the other a direct line to Hunt himself.

Castle made a joke about self-destruct buttons that wasn't funny at all, and Hunt gave him a grave smile. "Just a few more days," he promised. "I'll be in touch." He left Castle standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his steps long and sure as he walked to the front door. He paused just outside the screening room, his head turned as if something had caught his attention. His shoulders sagged as if he'd lost some internal debate, and he waved with a hand.

"Come here." Castle obeyed his summons dutifully, following his father into the room. Hunt had already given him the run-down of each camera, where it was pointed, how to swivel it if he needed to. Hunt bypassed all of those and moved to the back of the room, where a blank screen sat inconspicuously among the others. He reached behind it and turned it on, his face set in a blank expression.

"What is-?" Castle peered at the screen, his heart hammering against his ribs. He didn't have to finish his question as the camera focused on an intersection. He recognized the street immediately. It was his.

"I told you in Paris, I've been keeping tabs on you for years. I just...I don't think you should torture yourself, but I wanted you to know this is here. Just in case." He disappeared then, almost as if he hadn't been there at all. No goodbye, no pat on the shoulder, just gone. Castle half-turned as if to say something, but his eyes were still glued to the screen. Would he be able to see them? Would he _want_ to?

He stood there for what seemed like hours watching tourists and pedestrians wandering the streets. The lights changed and cars sped by, but he was focused solely on one area. He recognized some of his neighbors coming and going, and even found himself smiling at some of their antics. But no sign of anyone he loved. Were they still in the Hamptons or had they come home immediately? The reporter had said the NYPD was spearheading the investigation, and he knew Chief Brody would help in whatever way he could. He also knew his fiance wouldn't rest until she had answers, and her team would back her up to the end. He felt ill at the thought of his own face pinned to the top of a murder board, staring at his team day in and day out. This needed to be over, and fast.

He forced himself to leave the small room, shutting the door behind him in an effort to avoid the temptation. He could waste away staring at the screen for a glimpse of his family, and all the effort his father was going through would be for nothing. It wasn't worth torturing himself for, but it was a comfort knowing it was there if he needed it. He silently thanked his father for his foresight, settling onto the couch with a soda and a notebook. If nothing else good came of this, at least he could get some writing done.

* * *

_**Day 4**_

_Dear Kate,_

_I'm sorry seems such an empty thing to say for the horror I've put you through these past few days. I can only imagine the pain you're feeling right now, the desolation that has no doubt gripped your heart and soul. I can only offer my apologies and my everlasting love. I told you once that our love story was a great one, one worth fighting for. Right now, as I sit in isolation and long for the feeling of your skin under my fingertips, I can't help but feel some of the desperation you showed me on that bench in Willow Creek._

_We will get through this. I have no doubt of that. In just a few short days, I will be right where I belong: next to you. We will get married and have beautiful children and live out our days together. We will tease Esposito and Lanie until they finally just give in and get married themselves, and we will watch Ryan go crazy again when Jenny tells him she's pregnant with their second child. We will watch Alexis grow and blossom into the marvelously strong woman that you had more than a hand in molding. We will raise our children in love and laughter, we will fight and make up (I'm looking forward to that most, I think), and we will get our happily ever after. Not because we deserve it (we totally do), but because there isn't anything we can't do when we're together. _

_I've known that from the beginning, even way back when you hated me and I wanted you. We've always been better together, whether we're tracking down murderers or carving out a life for ourselves. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life loving you, and I even though we're apart right now I wanted to let you know from across the void that I'm with you. Always._

_All my love, forever and always,_

_Rick_

He closed the notebook sharply, watching as a single teardrop landed on the outer cover. He hadn't done that yet - grieved for his loss - because each time it welled up he thought about his family and what they were no doubt feeling now. At least he knew they were alive. He had no right to cry when they'd lost so much more, but that didn't stop the tears each time he thought about what Kate was going through. He tried to put himself in her shoes - a handy tool for a crime novelist - but each time he imagined her dying and him living without her, he felt a chasm open in his chest. He knew hers was so much worse after having opened her heart to him. Since her mother, she 'd never let anyone so close again and now that he'd been ripped away she might never recover.

No, he told himself. She was stronger than that. Like the mythical phoenix, she'd rise from those ashes. She'd be damaged and guarded but she would survive. She would look after Alexis like she'd promised all those years ago. She would keep Martha company in wee hours when the despair seemed to last forever. And she would go on getting justice for those victims who had been taken from their loved ones. Her mother had been her reason for becoming a cop; he would be the reason she stayed one.

"Way to be morbid, Castle," he muttered aloud, shaking his head like a dog to clear it. He wasn't dead, and he had no plans on testing her capability to go on without him. He would be back with her in just a few days. He just had to hold on.

_**Day 5**_

Hunt had called the satellite phone just before lunch time with an update. Things were progressing, and phase two of whatever plan he'd hatched was already underway. Without a method of outside communication, Castle had no idea what was going on in the world. He'd said goodbye curtly, wondering idly if he needed to say "over and out" before hanging up. He didn't think so, but murmured it anyway before setting the device on his bedside table. The furnishings in the room were bare, just a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The closet was full of mono-colored t-shirts and pants in various shades of khaki and gray. A lone pair of jeans hung in the back, but they were a size too small for Castle to squeeze into.

He'd settled on a pair of comfortable looking slacks and the darker colored shirts. He stayed away from the red and blue ones. They reminded him too much of her - of days that seemed so long ago now. Had it really only been two weeks since their Scrabble war? In truth, he'd practically let her win the first time. In an effort not to end up with a cranky bedmate, he'd spent his first several turns playing less than stellar words. She'd surprised him in the later rounds with some astonishing vocabulary, and he'd redoubled his efforts. It had been too late, though, and she'd secretly gloated even as she soothed his wounded pride.

The second time had been a full on battle, and he'd used every trick in his arsenal. But she'd been ready for him this time, and countered each of his words with one of her own. It had been close, but she'd won their second match fair and square. It was petty, he knew that, but his pride had been damaged. He was a professional wordsmith and she a cop. Not dumb by any stretch of the imagination, but it was his job to weave through the intricacies of the language, to sift through the diverse and plentiful lexicon and select the perfect word for the moment. It was something of a gift, and he took great pride in it.

But she'd bested him. Twice. (The first time didn't count if he wasn't really trying to win.) And then, to top it off, she hadn't gloated. She hadn't derided him or made him feel inferior. This wonderful, beautiful, glorious goddess of a woman had tried to cheer him up. With, of all things, strip poker. And he'd loved her more in that moment than any moment before - a feat he'd thought simply impossible. And when all the cards were on the table and all of the clothes under it, he'd shown her just how much he cherished her whole being.

It had been six days, he realized. Six days since he'd made love to Kate Beckett. Barring book tours and her brief stint in DC (a period of their lives he not-so-affectionately referred to as "The Blue Period"), it was the longest his body had ever gone without being connected to hers. He ached for her down to his very bones, and each night as he laid in the cold, empty bed that had become his, his hands still sought her body as he drifted off to sleep.

In the darkness of the night, long after the wilderness outside had quieted, he jerked awake. Horrific images of a blood-spattered gown were burned into his retinas, and no matter how much he blinked they would not leave him. He was haunted by the way it could have gone down, and even though he'd never experienced it he could feel the burn of a bullet in his chest.

Or maybe that was just his heart breaking.

* * *

_**Day 6**_

It was early when he woke again, and he saw the faint light of the morning sun filtering through the blinds. He stood and stretched, grimacing as his aging body protested the movement. He remembered the first time she had seen him wince in the morning, remembered her teasing comments, remembered grabbing her and showing her just how _young_ he really was. When they were spent and sated, they had taken their time in the shower just enjoying being together.

The cold floor and bland coffee were a poor substitute as he padded across the living area and into the screening room. He checked all of the cameras like Hunt had showed him, and when he was satisfied he was still all alone out here he moved to the back of the room. Like every morning he sank into the chair and stared at it, hoping for a glimpse of his family. Each morning prior he'd been disappointed, seeing only the faces of strangers milling about on the sidewalk.

He was halfway through a sip when he saw her. The grainy image did her little justice, but even her grayscaled visage made his heart quicken. He swallowed quickly and set the mug down before crowding the screen in an effort to get a better glimpse.

She was dressed for a run, her too-large hoodie dwarfing her small frame. She stretched for a moment - her movements almost robotically slow - before taking off at a jog. He knew her route, had even run it with her a few times, and he waited patiently for the forty minutes she'd be gone.

When an hour came and went he worried. Had she been attacked? Abducted? Killed? Had Hunt failed and now Bracken was finishing the job? An hour and a half had him pacing the small space, debating breaking every rule he was given and just go. His need to know she was alright trumped his own safety, and he had almost convinced himself to just start running back down the road toward his life when she appeared again.

She was drenched in sweat, and he watched her press one hand to the wall as she caught her breath. Her whole body heaved with the effort, and as she stood there he saw her shoulders hitch. He stared mesmerized as she turned to lay her other hand next to its twin, holding herself up by sheer will as she fought to regain control. Passersby paid her no heed in true New York fashion, oblivious to the woman whose entire world had come crumbling down just a week prior. She stayed there only a few more seconds before dashing inside, retreating to a place of safety before she lost it entirely. Castle watched a few minutes more, completely torn apart by the moment he'd just witnessed. This needed to end now.

"Richard?" Hunt's voice startled him and he turned, knocking his now-cold coffee onto the floor. The mug shattered and Castle cursed, stooping to pick up the pieces even as his father stepped fully into the room.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as if he was five instead of forty-five. Hunt shook his head and disappeared for a few moments, returning with a roll of paper towels and the trash can. They cleaned up the broken pieces in silence, working as a team until the evidence of Castle's accident were erased. When it was finished Castle wiped his hands clean and followed Hunt out into the main area.

"So?" he asked finally, unable to go one more moment without knowing. Hunt didn't answer at first, busying himself with returning the trash can beneath the sink and placing the paper towels back on the table. He gestured for Castle to sit on the couch, and when the younger man complied he took up residence in the arm chair across from him.

"It's over," he said. "Bracken's organization has been dismantled. The CIA has launched a full investigation regarding some of his connections overseas, and the FBI is running the domestic side of things. His accounts have been frozen, assets seized, and his family sequestered."

Castle sank back against the cushions with a dumbstruck look on his face. He hadn't thought his father was capable of any answer other than violence. It must have shown on his face because Hunt's eyes became cold and hard.

"Make no mistake, son," he continued, "those men who would have killed you are no longer capable of doing so. I saw to that. But Bracken wouldn't have stopped until we took everything from him. So we did. You and Kate are free."

Thank you seemed like such a hollow sentiment for the emotion that welled up in him. He stood up when Hunt did, not quite in control of his own actions when he reached forward to hug the man. He clung tightly, whispering his gratitude into his father's shoulder. Hunt patted his back firmly, this embrace honest and full of something Castle might consider fatherly love. When he felt he could do so without collapsing, Castle pulled away and lifted his chin.

"When do we leave?" He needed to get home now, to hold his daughter and mother in his arms, to kiss Kate until she believed he would never leave her again. He needed his family. He felt bad for the exhaustion he saw in his father's posture, but Hunt seemed to sense his desperation.

"Get your things," he answered, laughing when Castle disappeared for only a few seconds. He returned with a small bag that contained only a notebook, a spare shirt, and two pens. It was all that he cared to take with him from his experience, and he very nearly ran to the door as Hunt shut everything down.

The ride to the city seemed to take forever, and Castle was very nearly bouncing as they parked on the street across from his building. Hunt turned the car off and turned to his son.

"Would you mind if I came up with you? It might be easier on them if I explained everything." The fact that he asked made Castle's heart clench. The last time he'd seen his father they hadn't parted on the best terms; Castle had in fact never expected to see him again. But here he was, asking permission to be with the family one more time, even if it was only in an official capacity.

"Of course." Castle unbuckled his belt and bolted from the car, ignoring the startled look of his doorman as he dashed through the front door. Hunt was close behind, slipping into the elevator as Castle jammed the button for his floor over and over.

His heart was pounding as he approached his front door. Hunt had assured him his family was here, holed up and trying to piece their lives back together from the mess it had become. Alexis' finals were over and Kate had three weeks off. She'd no doubt tried to return to the precinct, and he thanked whatever higher power had ordered her to stay home. His hand closed around the knob, and it was a testament to the state of mind of the loft's residents that it was left unlocked.

Silence greeted him. His house that was always full of laughter and love and life was covered in a shroud of bereavement. His eyes adjusted to the darkened room, and his eyes fell first to the curtain-covered windows. Movement caught them then, and the huddled forms on the sofa turned almost in unison.

A wine glass crashed to the floor, spilling its contents to the floor. The tinkling of tiny shards was a catalyst for a flurry of motion. Three voices called out at once, and he stood frozen as his family scrambled to their feet.

"Richard!"

"Castle?"

"Daddy!"

He took two strides forward before his arms were full. Hands clutched at him and someone sobbed against his shoulder. He felt tears soaking his shirt as he stood between his living room and kitchen, and he didn't know whose they were. Nor did he care.

"It's alright," he murmured into his daughter's hair. "I'm okay." Alexis burrowed further into his side, allowing room for Kate to fold herself around him. He kissed her head and pulled her tighter to him.

"Castle," her voice broke across his skin and he felt bereft. He had done this. He had gone along with his father's plan with almost no resistance, intent on keeping his family safe no matter the cost. Doing so had very nearly ripped them apart, and he'd spend the rest of his life atoning for this sin.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered back, repeating the apology like a prayer in her hair. His mother kissed his cheek and stepped away, finally catching sight of the man standing in the doorway.

"What the hell?"

Castle pivoted his head as far as the two women in his arms would allow, staring at the man who'd started it all.

"Mother, I can..._we_ can explain."

"Explain what?" Kate had pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye. He hated the look he saw there - the hurt and betrayal he'd caused.

"Please," he begged quietly. "Please just...can we sit down?"

"Castle you were dead. _Dead! _How can you just -"

"He's right, Kate," Hunt interjected. "This would be best if we could all sit."

Alexis and Kate never relinquished their hold on him, tucking into his sides as they settled on the couch. After cleaning up the shattered glass Martha took the armchair, looking every bit the queen holding court as Hunt was forced to grab a chair from the dining room. No one said a word as the CIA agent spoke, his cadence even and unwavering as he laid out the story from the beginning. Castle felt Kate tense in his arms as Hunt broke the news of Bracken's bounty, and he couldn't resist pressing another kiss into her hair as his father told them his plan.

"You have to understand, I didn't have a lot of time. I had to act quickly to save Richard. To save all of you." Hunt looked stricken for the first time since this all started, and Castle realized he felt genuinely contrite for his part in all of this. He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, but it had been the only way he knew to protect them.

"Thank you," Castle spoke into the silence following Hunt's confession. His father looked surprised at that, but after a moment he schooled his features and nodded. "If you hadn't acted, I would be dead. For real."

Alexis clutched his arm tighter, burying her face into his shoulder. He knew they'd all be pretty shaken for a while, and he dropped a kiss into her hair as she trembled against him. On his other side, Kate gripped his hand fiercely even as she leaned forward just a bit.

"What happens now?" she asked, and Hunt's face stretched into a smile.

"Now, you two get married. It's over."

"Over?" The detective in her needed all the answers, and Castle nodded at his father when the older man glanced at him.

"Over," Hunt repeated. "Bracken is powerless, his entire empire has been dismantled. The FBI and the CIA are looking into every crevice of his life. It's over." Kate deflated against him, boneless in the knowledge that her fifteen year struggle was, at last, finished. He'd thought arresting Bracken had freed her, had given her some measure of closure. But he knew deep down - just as she did - that Bracken was still dangerous, even from behind bars. Knowing that he finally couldn't hurt them anymore was almost too much for her to bear, and her body molded against him in relief.

"I have to go," Hunt said, standing quickly. "I'll be seeing you." Martha walked him to the door, and Castle felt a small pang of _something_ shoot through him as he watched his parents embrace. She must have whispered a thank you, because when they parted he gave her an easy smile and a shake of his head. He waved once more before disappearing out the door, leaving Castle alone with his family.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Dad," Alexis hugged him again, crushing him with a strength he hadn't known she possessed.

"Me, too, Pumpkin," he squeezed her back as best he could one-handed. Kate sensed his need to hold his daughter and relinquished her grip on him in favor of retrieving drinks for all of them. Castle gathered his daughter in his arms and rocked her as she wept into his chest, whispering words of apology and love all the time. When she was finally done he let her go, happy to see some of her usual brightness back in her eyes.

"Love you, Daddy." She kissed his cheek and stood from the couch, offering her hand to lift him to his feet as well. He hugged her once more, returning the sentiment as he released her.

"Love you, too." He watched her bound away toward her grandmother, wrapping her arms around the woman in happiness. Martha embraced the girl easily, smiling probably for the first time in a week. Castle watched them for a moment and felt the vice-like grip around his heart ease into nothing.

"Hey," Kate's low greeting startled him, and she gave him a flat smile as she offered him a bottle of water. He grabbed it from her and tossed it on the couch. All he wanted right now was her wamrth in his arms. She fit herself under his chin, turning her head to lay her ear against his heart. Her arms banded around his waist as his slid over her shoulders. They stood like that for several moments just breathing, each listening to the soft sounds of the other.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he whispered. "I can't imagine what you've been through these past few days." He heard her sniffle against his chest and he held her tighter as she cried silently.

"Please don't ever do that to me again," she begged. "I'm not sure can survive it again."

He knew exactly what she meant, and though he'd said otherwise he could imagine quite clearly how he'd react if their roles were reversed. He'd watched her die in his arms almost three years ago, bleeding out even as he tried to keep her with him. That had been before everything, before _them_. Now that they knew just how good they were together, how much he'd really lose if she were taken from him, he shuddered.

"You'd survive," he told her. "You're the strongest person I have ever known." She could go on without him, he was sure of it. He was also sure losing him could very well close her off for good.

"Listen," he shifted his grip to her arms and pushed her away gently. His eyes bore down into hers as he spoke. "You have to promise me something. If something happens to me, I need you to look after them." He tilted his head toward the kitchen, where Martha and Alexis were chatting happily. Kate opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off with a shake of his head. "No, I'm serious. If I'm gone, you're all they have left."

_And they're all you'd have left, too_.

Neither of them voiced the thought, but it flashed across both their faces. Because, yes she had her dad and Lanie and the boys, but none of that compared to what they had built here. The threat that she would retreat behind her wall once more and never let anyone in again was very real, and it scared him.

"Kate," he pleaded, needing to know she would at least try to be okay when he was gone, even if she would never be whole.

"Alright," she choked, burying herself against his chest again. "Can we please not talk about this for a while?"

"Sure," he cradled her against him. "We'll pick this up in fifty years or so." He smiled against her hair, feeling her body shake slightly as she chuckled with him. They stood there for a few more minutes until she jerked in his arms.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, digging in her pocket for her phone. "I have to call Lanie and the boys!"

* * *

_**Day 7**_

Castle lay awake in his bed staring at the ceiling. Esposito, Ryan, and Lanie had rushed over immediately, eager to see for themselves what Kate had told them over the phone. Castle had welcomed them with open arms, even endured Esposito's poorly timed resurrection jokes as they talked and laughed over pizza. Ryan had brought Jenny and Sarah Grace with him, and Castle had felt blessed to be surrounded by so much love. He'd even had a quick phone conversation with Jim, assuring him that he was in fact alive and he would keep in touch about the new wedding details.

They had all gone home well after midnight, and though Castle hated rushing them out the door he just needed to spend the whole night holding Kate in his arms. He'd leaned against the door frame as she brushed her teeth and changed into pajamas, smiling coyly as he refused to leave her alone even for an instant. He knew she was still hurting, still too raw from everything. When they finally settled into bed and turned out the lights, he wasn't surprised when she burrowed into his side and clutched his shirt tightly. He felt more tears on his shirt, and he spent the next few hours reminding her that he was indeed alive and _here_. She finally fell asleep around four, drifting off on his shoulder for her first peaceful night's sleep in a week.

"I love you," he whispered, turning his head slightly to brush his lips over the crown of her head. She responded to him even in sleep, nuzzling further into his chest and releasing a sigh of contentment as his arms tightened around her.

Tomorrow they would figure everything out and – if he had his way – they'd be married before the sun set. Until then, he was content to listen to the sound of her heartbeat next to his, thanking every deity in the universe (and his father, too) that he had the chance to give Kate the forever he'd promised.

* * *

Reviews are appreciated, as they fuel the fire of my imagination. It's funny, because I have a much longer case-oriented fic that takes place at the end of Season Three. It's not similar (unless you count the fact that Kate has to pretend she's dead), but it has taken me a while to write. Now that this is up, is there any interest in that fic? It's much longer (novel length at least), and so would be a weekly update sort of thing. If there's interest, I will look into final edits and start posting next week.

Thank you readers.


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